


Heart-Shaped Box

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Neglect, Dean In Love, Feminized Sam Winchester, First Love, First Meetings, Implied Top Dean, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Lolita Sam, M/M, Obsessive Dean Winchester, Pining Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Public Blow Jobs, Slut Shaming, implied bottom Sam, underage blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-13 22:23:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15374667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The love story of Sam Winchester and Dean Campbell.Nonrelated AU inspired by Nirvana's Heart-Shaped Box.





	Heart-Shaped Box

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kokoro_kikoeru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokoro_kikoeru/gifts).



It was a crisp autumn morning, the day Sam Winchester waltzed into Dean Campbell’s life without warning. Cool breezes and nice weather weren’t typical in hell-degree-weather-Texas, but neither were lanky boys who wore denim jackets over ratty handed down Rock ‘n Roll t-shirts, yet Dean was somehow witnessing both at the same time. Sam Winchester was like a dream boy picked straight out of an 80’s chick flick, and though he hated to admit it, Dean was a sucker for chick flicks. 

 

~

 

From the second he stepped foot into the school for the very first time, dirty Converse shoes squeaking against the school floor tiles, Sam was followed. Followed by the cool morning air, by a flock of curious girls, and by whispers.

 

The Winchesters- Sam and whatever family he had concealed- had yet to be properly introduced to the town. Yet somehow, the rumors about the Winchester boy seemed to already be hitting double digits. Triple digits, if the girl that claimed Sam was here as an undercover drug dealer was anything to go by. Maybe not triple digits, but triple the amount of stupidity. 

 

Dean understood it- the rumors. There was only so much gossip that could be reused over and over again. Soon enough, life became dull and colorless in small towns such as the one he had chained to since birth. Rewashed gossip shrunk over time. One day Sam Winchester would lay upon the dirty pile of recycled stories regardless of how extraordinary he might be.

 

But today, he was brand new and on display. And like a child, Dean had to stop and stare and  _want_.

 

~

 

Some girls were bunched up near their lockers across from Dean's own, all of them having a giggle-fest and holding their plastic covered binders to their chests as they talked about the new boy. They whispered quite loudly, loud enough for Dean to hear them wondering out loud where Sam had come from and what stories he had. One of them, a tiny bottle blonde that wore terrifyingly tight push-up bras, asked her friend if she thought he’d be good in bed.

 

Dean hated being a part of the crowd, any crowd. He truly did. But despite that solidified fact, he knew he belonged with those girls. He was one of them. Sweaty-palmed, rose blushed cheeks, trembling legs, and dirty high schooler thoughts cycling through his brain. He and those girls had all those things in common at that very moment.

 

Sam Winchester walked past him smelling like freshly cut grass and motor oil, and Dean ached to hold that scent close to him for as long as he could.

 

~

 

Sam’s locker was locker #13, perfectly placed along the hallway that led to Dean’s first class of the day. Every morning on his way to history class, Dean looked across the hall and saw a wild mop of brown hair, ends curled heavenward and perched perfectly on top of red-dusted ears. Everyday Dean had to walk past the prettiest human he’d ever seen in his life and pretend his heart didn’t slice itself each time he forced himself to walk away.

 

~

 

It had been one week. One singular week and Dean was already an expert on everything Sam-related.

 

He’d managed to crack Sam’s locker combination within the first four days of Sam’s arrival. He’d even memorized the way Sam walked… shoulders slightly drooped and legs always carrying him across halls in long perfect strides. He’d learned that Sam liked to sneak his lunch into the school’s library instead of interacting with people during lunch. Maybe he hadn’t made friends yet, but it seemed more likely that Sam didn't like interacting with others. Dean's heart curled into itself just thinking about how they had something in common.

 

Dean followed him most days, eager to ditch his friends in order to get an empty table in the library. Preferably one with a good view of the ancient mythology section that Sam always seemed to linger in.

 

He was weird, Dean admitted that much, but he was intriguing. Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off the boy even if he tried.

 

~

 

 

The first time Dean ever saw Sam outside of school was a shock. An electric jolt at first, painful, but quickly turned into sweet unexpected pleasure.

 

Outside of school, Sam dressed more inappropriately, to say the least. He walked past Dean’s apartment complex early one Saturday morning, pink headphones blasting noise in his ears, the smooth, slightly tan, skin of his legs fully exposed in the sinfully tight shorts he wore. Up to that point in his life, Dean had never seen another male wear booty shorts.

 

He wished he could tell him he looked beautiful. The kind of beautiful that cartoon characters dropped their jaws to the floor for and drooled rivers of saliva for.

 

Sam, however, walked past his building without a single glance up at the second story of the apartment building. If Winchester had cast a single glance upward, he’d have been met with the stare of an infatuated green-eyed boy.

 

 

~

 

 

Dean’s cousin Gwen came over to visit every now and again.

 

That weekend her mom had dropped her off with a bag of clothes in one hand and ten bucks in the other. She would be staying with them for a week or so meanwhile her mom went around the state doing God knows what.

 

“You sure she ain’t some kind of prostitute?” Dean asked Gwen the first night she slept over, which earned him a rightful punch in the upper arm and a mush-colored bruise to go along with it.

 

Dean liked Gwen. Well, at least he liked the free cigarettes that always seemed to come along with her.

 

She was better than no company, always lounging in Dean’s room, both of them lazily staring out the window and blowing smoke out into the open air. They were minding their own business on a lazy weekend day filled with nothing to do but suck smoke into their lungs and contemplate life.

 

Gwen watched a spider eat a fly in the corner of Dean’s wooden windowsill, meanwhile, Dean absently watched the sidewalk down below.

 

He hadn’t expected for Sam to come walking by blowing huge pink bubbles of gum, sporting particularly dark bruises on his knees. His hazel fire eyes were fixed on a women’s magazine, all pink and girly and flowery. On the cover of the magazine, in a bright pink, awfully glittery text, read  “ **Top Ten Ways to Please Him Only Using Your Mouth!** ”. Even from the second story, Dean could see the way Sam’s eyes reading the article analytically as if it were some sort of classic literature text. As if he wanted to learn every single dirty detail inside of that $4.40 magazine as soon as possible.

 

Gwen stuttered out a laugh when she looked down below, figuring the lanky boy holding the 18+ magazine in his hands was what had made Dean choke on his cancer stick. She cast her eyes over at Dean, who was undeniably blushing at whatever his hormonal teenage brain was fantasizing.

 

“What’s his name?”

 

“Sam,” Dean replied despite his whole mouth having gone dry.

 

“Do you like him?”

 

A pause. Then a nod.

 

“Yes.”

 

~

 

Gwen stayed put at the apartment for a few more days, helped Grandpa Samuel with basic chores around the house. They caught up and left Dean to tend to himself for the most part. It was a relief to Dean since he’d been busy with school and work.

 

When night fell on the last day of her visit, she climbed into Dean’s bed and shook him until he was awake.

 

“I saw Sam today,” was what really woke Dean up.

 

“Sam?” Dean asked as if that were the only thing his brain had registered (it was).

 

Gwen rolled her eyes, “Yeah. Saw him leaving the motel down the street smoking a cigar. He stopped by the convenience store and told me he liked my lipstick. He stole a cherry coke and then left.”

 

Dean glared at Gwen. He couldn’t help but be jealous that she’d only been in town for less than a week and she’d already interacted more with Sam than he ever had. He also couldn’t help but imagine Sam in ruby red lipstick. A cherry red mouth that would leave a red ring around everything it wrapped itself around. Dean shuddered at the visual his mind had painted.

 

“So here,” Gwen stuck her hand in her pocket, “I want you to give this to him.”

 

She pulled out a tube of lipstick. The tube was black with a few scratches on it that made it look a little old, but the golden linings on the lipstick cap made up for that. The smell of it was sticky even when it was concealed, he noticed. Dean took it hesitantly and wondered how the hell he was supposed to go up to another male and just hand him makeup.

 

“Just talk to him, okay? God, you’re such a virgin,” Gwen sighed, exasperated.

 

“You know I’m not,” Dean hissed back at her.

 

“Yeah, well compared to what Sam probably knows what to do…” Gwen whistled, “You’re in over your head,  _Deanie_.”

 

Dean gulped.

 

~

 

Dean did it the following Monday.

 

He went up to Sam’s locker before the last bell of the school day excused him to go home. Sam was still at his locker, hip perched on the side of the cool metal of it, tucking away his textbooks. Dean watched for a second, trying to figure out how to talk to the younger boy without seeming like an idiot. Not knowing what else to do, Dean awkwardly tapped Sam on the shoulder to get his attention.

 

Sam slowly turned around and passively looked at Dean. Telling by his facial features, Sam seemed unimpressed.

 

"What do you want?" he asked, absently, too focused on placing his textbooks away neatly and carefully. 

 

“Uh, nothing…” Dean shook his head, “I mean, I do want something! It’s just… you’re new to this school, yeah? And I see you hanging around alone a lot, so I was wondering if you wanted to eat lunch with me? Tomorrow?”

 

This time Sam turned around to give Dean his full attention. He raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at the older boy.

 

“The last time a jock asked me to eat lunch with him he tried to get me to blow him in the bathroom. If you want a blowjob, just ask,” Sam snapped at him with no shame whatsoever before returning his attention to his locker, this time focusing on a small mirror he'd hung up on the door of his locker.

 

Dean, at a loss for words, watched as Sam stared at his reflection. He watched him angle his face left and right so he could catch any blemishes that may have appeared on his face. There were none, and Sam smiled at himself in the mirror when he realized this. As if any part of the boy could ever be anything but perfect. 

 

“I don’t want you to blow me-” Dean ushered out, then realized what he just said wasn’t exactly true.

 

Sam smiled, “Really? It’s usually the straight boys that come the fastest when a guy goes down on them. It’s kinda cute.”

 

Sam had been the most recent of Dean’s wet dreams- something Gwen would never let him live down after she'd heard him moaning out Sam's name in his sleep. He'd played out the scenario in his head. He'd talk to Sam, sweet-talk him, then they'd get together in the nearest janitor's closet and that would be that. Actually executing the plan was harder in real life than it had been in his head. 

 

Slamming his locker shut, Sam turned to Dean, “If it’s not a blowjob, then what do you want?”

 

Dean’s head spun with anxiousness. Sam smelled like gasoline and girly perfume.

 

Swallowing hard, Dean reached into his jeans pocket and felt around for the tube of lipstick. He smiled sheepishly as he wordlessly handed it over to Sam.

 

Sam stared at it with a questioning look, the object remaining in Dean’s outstretched hand between the two of them.

 

“It’s… my cousin kind of saw you at the store the other day and said you told her you liked her lipstick… I don’t know anything about lipstick, but I told her I see you around at school, ya know? And I said I’d give it to you- it’s used, but it’s good I think. It’s a pretty color-”

 

Sam had begun laughing somewhere along the lines of the babbling trainwreck Dean had gotten himself into. The boy was laughing hard, but somehow simultaneously soft. Dean watched as his face contorted into the nicest smile he’d ever seen in his life.

 

What really arrowed through his heart, though, were Sam’s dimples. It was Dean’s first time ever seeing them, and he wanted to physically hurt himself for having missed such an authentically pretty piece of the boy he'd been holding so close to his heart.   

 

“God, you talk  _so_  much,” Sam complained, though his voice held no venom. 

 

With dimples still on display, Sam happily reached out for the tube of lipstick. 

 

Soft fingerpads grazed over Dean’s fingers. The touching of their skin didn’t even last an entire second, but Dean had already recorded the way it felt in his memory. It had been filed away in his heart forever.

 

All smiles, Sam walked around Dean and left him stunned in the middle of the emptying hallway.

 

Whispers followed Sam around always, but now they followed Dean too. They followed  _them_.  

 

~

 

Dean walked down the steps of the school and started to make his way across the grass to leave the campus until a few of his friends called him over to chat. They had obviously heard about his interaction with Sam, and they all immediately began asking him why the hell he had been talking to Winchester. Dean came up with the excuse that Sam and his cousin were friends, and she’d accidentally borrowed something of his, and he was merely returning the object. No way in hell was he going to confess he'd exchanged makeup with Sam.

 

His friends bought his lie easily enough, much to Dean’s relief. They clapped him on the shoulder and cracked a few jokes with him before bringing Sam up again.

 

“We wouldn’t care if you were… you know… _with_  him,” his friend Clark embarrassingly waggled his eyebrows.

 

His friends all nodded in response, and up until then, Dean had thought they were all grade-A homophobes. He’d never even bothered to ask. How could he? Gay wasn’t a word that was spoken in rural Texas, not unless it was being bashed by the local priest with clammy hands and eyes that lingered on children for a little too long. 

 

“Yeah, Sam’s pretty feminine. It’ll probably feel like you’re fucking a girl if you ever get inside of Winchester’s panties,” Stephen attempted to joke.

 

Dean didn’t find the statement funny. It made him want to punch Stephen and break his nose just for suggesting anything that obscene about Sam. Before Dean could tell his friend to shut the hell up, Sam appeared.

 

“Speak of the devil,” Clark whispered underneath his breath.

 

Dean’s breath hitched when Sam walked their way. This time it wasn’t the sway of the boy's hips or the curl of a smirk that made Dean ache, this time it was the painted red lips. Sam was already a daydream just by existing, but the added lipstick added a layer of gorgeousness on the boy that made Dean swoon. Hard.

 

In the background noise, Dean heard somebody call Sam something along the lines a whore or a slut, but Dean would never call the boy that. His teenage-soft heart was in love. He’d never seen anything prettier, and by the stunned looks of his friend’s faces, among many other viewers, he could see Sam Winchester was going to leave a big impression on this nameless town. He would go down in history as more than recycled gossip.

 

Despite the leering eyes that stared at him, Sam only had eyes for Dean in that very special moment. A moment that Dean would surely reply in his mind for as long as his brain allowed it. Sam continued walking calmly over to him, his bruise stained hands gripping onto the straps of his backpack tightly, his chipped pink nail polish visible to anyone standing close enough.

 

“Walk me home?” Sam asked sweetly girl-shy. Far too good to say no to. 

 

Floundering for words, Dean managed to stutter out a weak, “Yes.”

 

It was the right answer, apparently, because Sam’s face immediately brightened up with a smile.

 

“Hurry up then,” Sam demanded, already walking off and away.

 

Dean rushed after him like a lost puppy. The sound of sneakers running to catch up made Sam smile knowingly. He loved having a cute older boy willing to do anything for him.

 

As Dean hurried over to Sam’s side, he was surprised by Sam’s warm arm intertwining with his own as if Dean were his escort. The warmth that radiated off of Sam in intoxicatingly sweet waves made Dean realize he had been living his whole life in the cold. He wanted to live in Sam-warmth from there on out. For the rest of his life, perhaps.

 

Everyone who was still at school had now turned their attention to the odd pair: Sam and Dean. It sounded nice. Fitting. Meant to be.

 

The Campbell boy and the fucked up new kid that always smelled like smoke and was smarter than all of the teachers of the town combined. Both boys were beautiful, both in their sperate ways. Sam was soft, delicate, tender on the outside. Girl -limbed and virgin-cute when he wanted to be, as sharp as glass when he had to be. Dean, on the other hand, was all sun-kissed freckles and the kind of boy you brought home to meet mommy and daddy. Two ends of a pole, that by some stuck of luck and miracle had come full loop and found one another.

 

“Winchester is gay?” came the voices of teenage girls, heartache lacing their question.

 

Walking off, Dean allowed his upper lip to curl up. He was a little more than proud to have the beauty that was Sam Winchester hanging off his arm for all of his schoolmates to see. 

 

Before they could make it even five steps away from the school, Sam turned around and sent a piercing look towards Stephen.

 

“By the way, fucking me doesn’t feel like fucking a girl. It feels even better,” Sam icily told Stephen before smiling sweetly, “At least that’s what all of the men I’ve slept with have told me. I got wife-material pussy.”

 

Sam turned his back to a red-faced Stephen and a stunned student body before dragging Dean away from them and towards his home.

 

~

 

Home wasn’t a word Sam knew. Not by experience, at least.

 

Dean wanted to ask Sam why he had been living in a lousy motel room for months. Before Dean got the chance to, Sam handed him an earbud that had been plugged into his iPod. Knowingly, Sam redirected the conversation before Dean began to ask him about his personal life.

 

The two of them walked down the street, a little too close for two boys who had just properly met that very same day. Dean tried to think back on all of the love stories and romantic movies he’d ever seen. Listening to music together was romantic, right? Dean couldn’t be sure. Nothing was sure with Sam, Dean had learned.

 

After pondering the romantic aspects of sharing earbuds, Dean gave up torturing himself and finally allowed himself to listen to the music. He found that he didn’t recognize any of Sam’s music. All he knew about the sound flowing into his right ear sounded pretty cool and that he liked it almost as much as he liked walking Sam home. 

 

Dean quickly wanted to learn all of the names of the songs if only to be able to get closer to Sam. To have something in common with him. To have a reason to be kept around.

 

Sam still hadn’t unhinged his arm from Dean’s, he didn’t bother taking it away on the walk home. He didn't even let go of Dean's arm as he unlocked the door to the motel room. It was as if he'd laid his claim on Dean's arm, and Dean so desperately wanted to assure Sam he could have more than just his lousy arm. 

 

Once they were inside of the motel and completely alone, Dean’s thoughts raced back to the magazine he’d caught Sam reading, the offer of a blowjob, the fact Sam apparently had wife-material pussy. Dean wondered if it would be blasphemous to pray to God that he let him fuck Sam then and there.

 

“Dad’s not home yet,” Sam declared as he entered the motel, “Thank fuck.”

 

“Will he be home soon?” Dean asked, suddenly terrified of the thought of being caught between the sheets with Sam by his father.

 

“ _Is he home_?” Sam mocked Dean, laughing, though Dean didn’t necessarily know why.

 

“The old bastard hasn’t been home in weeks. I have no fucking idea what day he’s coming back if he’s even coming back at all.”

 

Dean stopped to look at Sam, who had finally unhooked his arm and moved away from Dean. The older boy watched as Sam sat at the edge of the bed in the motel and wrapped his earbuds around his iPod neatly. When Dean figured Sam was being serious, that he hadn’t seen his own father in weeks, he wanted nothing more than to ask away. He wanted to know where Sam’s father usually went off to, or why Sam seemed to hate him, or if Dean would ever get to meet him.

 

That was a stretch though. A “meet-the-parents” dinner was daydreams away. Unreachable, Dean presumed.

 

It scared Dean when he thought about how little he knew about tall, pretty, dark-eyed, pale, rosy-lipped Sam. He knew nothing, yet the boy was the only person he thought about day and night. The only person he fantasized about. Even watching porn had become hard without having Sam’s image come to mind.

 

There was no denying that Dean only wanted to get closer, closer, closer until it physically hurt. Dean wished it was possible to infuse himself into Sam, live inside of his organs and run through his bloodstream until Sam didn’t know what it felt like to live without him. Then maybe he’d understand what Dean felt like.

 

Sam, still seated on the motel bed, patted his hand down on the ugly yellow sheets, a gesture telling Dean to sit down next to him. Dean tossed his backpack where Sam had thrown his on the floor and awkwardly made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed.

 

At the worst possible time, Dean remembered Gwen teasing him about being a virgin. Dean cursed her in his mind because he suddenly felt like a virgin all over again. The boy of his wet dreams was asking him to merely sit beside him and Dean was already on the verge of creaming his pants.

 

~

 

“Want to listen to music?” Sam asked.

 

Dean looked at Sam, his multicolored eyes, his lips, everything. He didn’t expect Sam to simply invite him over for music. He expected between the sheets panting and moaning. At first, Dean deflated at the prospect of not having sex that afternoon, but it was Sam. He was with Sam, and that in itself is more than Dean had ever hoped for.

 

“C’mere, Dean. Lie down and put this in,” Sam instructed as he handed Dean his earbud once again before plopping himself onto the bed.

 

It was the first time Sam had said his name, Dean noted. His name had never sounded better coming from anyone. Happily, Dean laid down next to his dream-boy and placed the pink earbud with a cheap dollar-store jewel on it into his ear.

 

It wasn't sex, but Dean didn’t care anymore. He stared up at the ceiling until his eyes drooped shut. Sam’s presence was typically hectic, it made Dean stand on his toes and anticipate what was next to come. But there, in the quiet little motel room, Sam’s presence was grounding. His body heat, his steady breathing, the gentle linger of skin touching… it was as if Sam was the first human contact Dean had ever had.

 

Somewhere between the sweet splendor, Dean heard a certain song start to play. One that he had never heard before in his life.

 

The music was haunting at first, mesmerizing, gentle guitar and bass strums. Soon enough, the song picked up its pace, and before Dean knew it there were lyrics flowing through the music. Dean bounced his leg to the beat, softly humming along with a voice he’d never heard before.

 

Sam smiled as he felt Dean’s dancing leg against his own.

 

“Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana,” Sam told him.

 

_Cut myself on angel’s hair and baby’s breath~_  

 

“I like it,” Dean nodded, closing his eyes and trying to catch every lyric the song had to offer.

 

_I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks~_

 

Dean had never heard of Nirvana, but he felt like he understood what the singer was saying. He himself had been locked inside his mind thinking of candy sweet lips and dark under eyes for weeks.

 

_I've been drawn into your magnetar pit trap_

 

He’d been drawn to Sam Winchester like a moth to a flame, and god, he was aching for the fire to burn him alive.

 

“Kurt wrote the song after Courtney Love gave him a heart-shaped box filled with a porcelain doll, dried roses, a miniature teacup, and seashells. Kurt didn’t really like her at the time, but he couldn’t get his mind off the box or Courtney,” Sam told Dean, fingers suddenly tracing up Dean’s forearm in an act of intimacy.

 

Dean remained quiet. He didn’t know who those people were, but Dean thought he was a lot like Courtney and Sam was a reluctant Kurt.

 

“What happened to them?”

 

Sam smiled, “They got married, had a baby, then Kurt shot his brains out.”

 

~

 

Dean didn’t end up sleeping with Sam. He did something worse. He stayed isolated from the world with only Sam to keep him company. They spent the whole afternoon listening to Sam’s favorite songs, and when Sam got bored of that, they watched TV reruns with Sam seated in Dean’s lap like a girl.

 

Dean didn’t sleep with Sam that day, instead, he fell in love with him.

 

~

 

Dean had gotten into the habit of carrying Sam’s textbooks regardless of whether Sam liked it or not. They had developed several new habits since the first day Dean had ever walked Sam home. For example, they met up every day after school, always listened to Nirvana on the walk to Sam's motel room. Except they had begun to listen to Hole more frequently, which Sam much more preferred. And most days, when Dean didn't have a shift at the burger joint and Sam wasn't feeling moody, the brunet would seat himself in Dean's lap and kissed him until his lips felt sore. They didn't call each other boyfriend, but they were undeniably more than friends. And as his "more-than-a-friend", Dean carried Sam's textbooks, held doors open, and kissed him goodnight (called him each night before bed when he couldn't be there physically) like the good boyfriend he'd someday be.

 

He’d also recently convinced Sam to come out of the depths of the library bookshelves during their lunch period. They began to eat in the cold wet alley that stood lonely between two separate school buildings with only a solitary trashcan for decoration.  

 

Dean hated it at first, hated the smell and hated the weird wetness that sopped into the dirt and dirtied his jeans whenever he tried to sit on the ground and eat is lunch. Sam loved it though, and so Dean made an exception. Or at least tried to.

 

"Sammy, let's sit somewhere else, yeah? This is the fifth pair of jeans that have gotten dirty this week thanks to whatever the hell that pile of wetness is," Dean grumbled. 

 

Sam only laughed, "Who says we have to sit?" 

 

With an outstretched hand, Sam helped Dean up to his feet. Dean, now standing upright with his sandwich in his hand, no less happy than he had been sitting down, was about to resume complaining. Before Dean could wipe mud off of his jeans and convince Sam to eat in the cafeteria with he and his friends from then until the end of the school year, Sam dropped to his knees. 

 

"Sam-" Dean choked out, "What the hell are you doing?" 

 

But Sam was already unzipping the jeans that were at his face-level. He was quick with his hands. 

 

"Who needs pants anyway?" Sam teased. 

 

His fingernails were colored red that week, and the color looked mesmerizing on the hand that rubbed Dean up and down over his boxers. Dean groaned, trying to stay focused on the boy who was bruising his knees and puckering his lips for him, but he was too worried somebody would find them and report them to the school staff. 

 

"Nobody can see us behind the dumpster. Why do you think I chose to bring you back here, dummy?" Sam smirked. 

 

Dean felt the softness of Sam's hand leading his dick out into the open air. The sudden coldness made him tremble, but not as much as the feeling of Sam's mouth wrapped around him did. Sam Winchester made dirty alleys that smelled like garbage look and feel like heaven. 

 

When Dean spared a glance down at Sam, he hyper-focused on the part where his dick and Sam's spit shiny mouth connected. Dean breathed heavily, bringing his hand down to trace the upper lip that so cutely rested perched on the tip of his dick. It so very much resembled a cupid's bow. 

 

Sam's doe-eyes turned a shade darker, his mischievousness coming out to play. Dean felt the softness of Sam's warm wet tongue tease at his slit. 

 

Suddenly Sam's mouth was empty, and the look he gave Dean made Dean wonder how cock-hungry Sam really was. His mouth shut into a frown as if having an empty mouth is the worst possible punishment for a boy. Maybe to Sam, it was.

 

Dean wrapped a hand around himself, stroked himself up and down. Sam quickly got the memo, closed his eyes and opened his mouth back up. He'd take Sam any day over the pornstars in his hidden tit-mag collection. 

 

A low groan, the feeling of static in his head, the unreal picture of Sam with his tongue stuck out waiting for  _more_. 

 

Dean balled his left hand into a tight fist as he climaxed down into pretty pink tonsils, the long forgotten sandwich resting in his palm smushed in the crush on his hand. 

 

~

 

The end of June came along silent and vicious.

 

Dean, several months older than when he’d first met Sam, felt as if he’d grown as a person. He’d begun planning to go to college with Sam, somewhere out of state. Somewhere they both could afford. Sam would go to some pristine school with a full-ride scholarship like the genius he was, and Dean would attend a community college near to Sam’s University regardless of where it was.

 

Months into their messy tangled relationship, Dean promised Sam they were forever. He held Sam in his arms and promised he’d follow Sam wherever he went.

 

At first, Sam said nothing. The boy Dean loved had trust issues. He especially had trouble with promises. Dean had already been expecting a quiet reply in response to his emotional venting.

 

What Dean hadn’t been expecting was ending up undressed next to Sam by the end of that night. They’d slept together for the first time. Truly slept together, two people in a bed who couldn't get enough of each other. Not some horny kids hiding behind a school dumpster. Dean's heart had already learned which Sam expressions were the most gorgeous. He hadn't expected a sweaty, fucked out Sam to be the sweetest eye-candy to ever exist.

 

~

 

On Dean’s graduation day, Sam was the one who cheered for him the loudest. He’d gotten front row bleacher seats next to a few bible thumpers that held onto the golden crosses hanging from their necks when they got a glimpse of Sam. Sam who happened to be wearing a peach colored tank-top and black high waisted shorts, the entire outfit selected out of the clearance rack in the girl's section from a small thrift store right outside of town. 

 

Sam had even topped off the look with his beloved red heart-shaped sunglasses. Dean nearly stumbled over his own feet when he caught a glimpse of him, wanting nothing but to run off and carry his boy in his arms, off to somewhere only the two of them existed. But he couldn't. Not yet. He needed the stupid ceremony to end first. 

 

By the time the ceremony was over and everyone had thrown their graduation caps up in the air and dispersed off into the crowd to find their respective families, Dean was a sweaty mess. He imagined Sam wouldn't be any better, but Sam had a talent for making sweat look good. Thinking of Sam being tanned and sweaty and in deliciously tight shorts made Dean run off to find his boyfriend before his grandfather found him amongst the crowd. It was fairly easy to do things behind old people's backs, but Dean’s grandfather was a hardass, not a dumbass.

 

It didn’t matter then, though. The minute Sam saw Dean running towards him with his hands outstretched, Sam childishly jumped into Dean's arms. Dean held him to his chest for as long as he could before setting him down on the ground. He took hold of Sam’s hand and dragged him behind the bleachers where he whooped with joy before twirling his boyfriend in his arms once more.

 

“I’m free!” Dean yelled out, peppering kisses on Sam’s face immediately after.

 

Sam laughed, trying to pry away, “Get off, your grandpa’s gonna burn me alive if he catches us.”

 

“I won’t let him,” Dean promised, finally finished giving kisses.

 

He stared down at Sam in his arms. He’d grown nearly as tall as him over the months, but he still had an inch or two to grow before Dean would begin worrying about being outgrown. Other than that, Sam had remained the same lanky, sweet-faced, arrow-through-heart boy that had changed his life from autumn to summer. 

 

“I love you, Sam Winchester,” Dean said with more certainty than he’d ever had in his whole life.

 

He’d half expected Sam to say it back. More like hoped. Instead, he got a tight smile and a chaste kiss.

 

“C’mon, stud. We have to go celebrate,” Sam gestured towards the bathroom stalls, "I wanna see how long it'll take me to take that graduation gown off of you." 

 

Dean grinned and followed after him, pretending his heart hadn’t just been trampled. 

 

~

 

An “I love you too” never came. 

 

Dean learned to ignore the missed calls on his phone, not being able to summon up the strength to talk to the boy he loved whole who only loved him back half. Maybe not even at all. 

 

Sore limbs trudged up the apartment steps until he reached the second floor. He’d been taking as many shifts down at the local burger joint as he could in order to avoid Sam and to avoid his grandpa. The old man had started asking him about Sam after some old woman at church had told informed him that his grandson had been hanging out too much around the Devil’s Child, as she so delicately put it. 

 

Carefully, Dean turned the key into the keyhole in order to not wake up Grandpa Samuel. He stepped inside of the apartment with delicate steps, pushing the door closed as softly as he could. 

 

“You look like an idiot trying to sneak in.” 

 

Dean swiftly turned his head around towards the source of the voice, finding his grandfather sitting on the couch with the tableside lamp dimly lighting the room. 

 

Dean huffed out a breath, “Scared the shit out of me, old man.” 

 

The older man guffawed, eyes crinkling with an amused smile. 

 

“Yeah, well, you’ve always been an easy spook,” his grandfather teased before his smile faded into something more serious. 

 

“Guess I have, huh?” Dean agreed before asking what was on his mind, “Gramps? You got something to say?” 

 

Though he was tired and wanted nothing more to crash into the softness of his bed, Dean knew his grandfather had something to tell him that didn’t have time to wait. Dean sat on the edge of the small brown couch that stood next to the couch where his father likes to splay out his whole body. He made himself comfortable and watched as his grandpa decided on his next words. 

 

“Listen, kid... I know you get all weird when I mention your  _friend_ , but I just need you to listen, okay?” 

 

His muscles tensed up immediately, knowing his grandfather had finally decided to lay down the law and talk about Sam. He was too tired to fight, and the worried look in his grandfather’s eyes made Dean stay put, unlike all the other times he’d bolted the second he’d heard Sam’s name. 

 

**“** He came over today.”

 

Dean’s head bolted upright at that piece of information, wondered if he’d even heard his grandfather correctly. His mind immediately jumped to conclusions, wondering if Sam and Grandpa Samuel had argued, or if Sam had revealed to his conventional and Catholic-raised grandfather than they’d been seeing each other romantically. 

 

“He came over dressed like...” Samuel shook his head, “Like a  _girl_. He had lipgloss on, these red heart-shaped glasses on, and he was wearing a girl’s  _dress_. It was obscene.”

 

Dean licked his lips, not being able to stop himself from imagining how pretty Sam must have looked. Despite the shocked look on his grandfather’s face, Dean knew he himself could never even pretend to hate Sam or be disgusted, not even for the sake of his own blood relative. 

 

“I nearly kicked him out," Granpa Samuel confessed, "but I’m glad I didn’t."

 

“You talked to him?” Dean asked, shock laced in his voice. 

 

“I did,” his grandpa smiled, “We spoke for hours, Dean. Did you know his dad was a marine? The kid obviously doesn’t like his dad much, but he spoke like he respected the crap out of his old man.” 

 

“He never told me that,” Dean absently thought out loud, more to himself than to his grandfather. 

 

“Yeah... he seemed like a quiet kind of kid. Sort of misunderstood, but good. I didn’t trust him at first until he started speaking about you.”

 

Dean was almost afraid to ask. Almost. 

 

“What’d he say about me?” 

 

“That you were strong. And brave. And that you’re the smartest person in this whole town. Kind and thoughtful. Everything good under the sun, basically,” His grandpa looked at Dean for the first time since he’d begun to speak, “He made me proud to have raised you right, Dean.” 

 

And just like that, Dean missed Sam. He missed holding him and having him near, calling him whenever he couldn’t touch him. He missed the little bits of random information Sam bombarded him with. His own little walking encyclopedia. Just like that, his heartfelt tender and saddened. 

 

“Anyhow, I just wanted to let you know he’d welcome here anytime. You’re old enough to know who’s good for you and who ain’t,” the older man lectured before nodding, “Just keep that in mind, kid. But, I need to get going to bed. An old man’s got to sleep,” his grandfather stood up from the couch and waddled off to bed. 

 

“Dean?” his grandfather called out, right before he stepped into his bedroom for the night. 

 

“Yeah?” Dean replied, facing the silhouette standing in the hall. The silhouette of the only person who had stuck around to raise him as a child.

 

“He left you something. I think it’s in your room.” 

 

Their conversation ended with the sound of his grandfather’s door closing. The quick click of the door closing shut seemed to echo, and Dean listened to it for as long as he could until he was able to will his legs to work once again. Dean made his way to his own bedroom, his head still feeling hazy. Nothing felt real at that moment. Absolutely nothing. 

 

~

 

The first thing Dean saw when he entered his room was a glimmering object sitting on his windowsill. Whatever it was, it was made out of porcelain. Faint pink, nearly white, glinting from the moonbeams that shone down upon it. 

 

The closer Dean stepped towards it, the faster his heart raced. 

 

When he was only a mere step away from the window sill, his heart plummeted. It was a heart-shaped box, creamy soft looking and cool to the touch even in the heat of the Texas night. 

 

Hesitantly, he opened the lid of the porcelain container, only to find several objects inside. The first thing Dean did was graze his fingers over the objects before pulling each of them out to explore them up close. 

 

The first object he pulled out was wrapped in faded old newspaper clippings. Sam had neatly tucked something inside of it, even wrapped it with tape like a little Christmas present. Infatuated, Dean pulled the thin paper apart, careful to rip the newspaper as minimally as possible. Once he’d opened the little gift, he was met with the sight of an amulet perched on top of coiled up leather string. Grabbing hold of the leather between his thumb and his pointer finger, Dean pulled the object up and out of the wrappings and realized it was a necklace. 

 

It wasn’t like the girly necklaces Sam liked to wear on occasion, little trinkets with hearts that dangled prettily over his chest. Dean was thankful Sam hadn’t picked out something too sappy for him (though he would have worn _anything_ Sam gave him). Without a second thought, Dean placed the necklace around his neck and adjusted it to his liking. He loved it.

 

Returning his attention to the porcelain heart once more, he reached in and grabbed tiny pieces of paper. Fortune cookie fortunes, each of them scribbled upon with hearts. Up until then, Dean had no idea Sam saved each and every fortune he got when he and Dean went out to eat at the local Chinese restaurant... the one with dim lighting in the back room where nobody dared to look or judge the two strange boys that held hands underneath the tabletop. 

 

One fortune cookie stood out from all of the others. Sam had doodled little hearts and a winky face onto it with a red glitter gel pen. The fortune made Dean laugh out loud due to the obvious sexual innuendo Sam was trying to convey; 

 

_It is hard to stumble when you’re on your knees_.

 

He had no idea what that fortune even meant, all he knew was that it gave him butterflies. 

 

The last thing his hands found inside of the heart was a piece of folded paper, obviously torn out of a book. The top of the now unfolded piece of paper read _Orlando_ , and Dean was quick to figure that it was a page out of one of Sam’s favorite classical literature novels. 

 

At the top of the page, there was a line of prose that had been underlined in black ink. Dean read it once, then twice, then a third time. Not once did his heart not tremble. 

 

“ _In case you ever foolishly forget, I am never not thinking of you_. ♡"

 

At the bottom of the page, there was a red mark. A kiss-mark, actually. The outline of Sam’s lips in his favorite shade of ruby red lipstick. 

 

Somehow, Dean had made his way into Sam’s heart-shaped box. He never ever wanted to leave.

 

~

 

He held roses in his hands. Red ones, because Sam had never once looked bad in red. Plus, it was a romantic gesture. An “I’m-sorry-for-ignoring-you” gesture.  

 

He knocked on the door of motel room #4, Sammy’s home for the past school year. It was a slow knock at first, then a hollow knock, and then a loud one. Nobody answered on any of the three. 

 

Dean looked around, wondered if Sam might’ve gotten out of the room to get some fresh air or run some errands. Maybe he’d gone to get something to eat from the vending machines out behind the motel. He looked and looked, then knocked again, hoping the shabby old door wouldn’t break down. 

 

“You’re being noisy,” a voice angrily declared, coming one door down from Sam’s. 

 

When Dean craned his neck to scan for who had scolded him, he was met with the sight of an older woman with a hunched back and a cigarette hanging loosely from her lips. Her hair looked unreal, resembling a witch’s wig from a cheap Halloween store that had the texture of a bird’s nest. She wasn’t the nicest sight to look at, at all. 

 

“The boy who lived here... have you seen him?” Dean asked, not once caring that he had disturbed the woman’s peace. 

 

The woman scoffed, puffed out a breath of smoke before answering. 

 

“The little brat is gone. Nobody’s living in that room anymore, so why don’t you just leave and-” 

 

He didn’t let her finish. His instincts had been set wild, and his head spun with worry of where Sam could have gone. Maybe he’d just switched motels, right? Dean hoped that was what was happening as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Sam as quickly as he could. 

 

No answer. 

 

Dean let the bouquet of flowers drop onto the pavement, the plastic they were wrapped in crinkling again the blacktop of the parking lot. His hands flew up to his hair and pulled at it frantically when Sam’s phone went to voicemail for the third or fourth time, Dean had lost count. 

 

His chest felt pained. He’d thought the box he’d gotten last night was a confession of love. Maybe it had been to some extent, but over everything, it had been a goodbye. Dean hadn’t understood that until now. Until he stood in a near empty parking lot with no idea of where Sam was. 

 

A tender rumble washed over him. Through tear-blurry eyes, Dean managed to look up at the road alongside the motel where his eyes instinctively landed upon a slick black Chevy Impala. It was an odd sight to see in such a mundane little town, which was why Dean kept his trained on it long enough to see the prettiest brunet boy he’d ever met in his life riding shotgun. 

 

The purr of the car roared as it sped away, completely canceling out the yells of Dean’s pleas for the driver to stop, for whoever was driving the car to bring Sam back to him. When his voice went unheard, Dean sprinted. Ran as fast as he ever had to try and catch up, but by then it was too late. 

 

Red rose petals lay lifeless upon the cement, already being carried away by the soft breeze that dusted them away into oblivion. Without even a glance his way, Dean’s daydream boy had left him with nothing but a phantom lingering scent of daisies and heartthrob. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for Julie, who've I've been giving my heart to lately, so why not dedicate this fic to her as well? xoxo  
> ~
> 
> I hope this story isn't disgustingly awful. It went down for editing, and now it's back with minimal grammar errors and 2,000+ more words! Whoops. 
> 
> ~
> 
> Thank you to anybody who's kind enough to leave comments or kudos, and check me out/talk to me on Tumblr! @PillowPrincessJared


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